


So Damn Simple

by geckoholic



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17041181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: “I’m not suggesting we get hitched as a joke or anything like that," Keith says. "I read a facebook post last week about pretending to plan a wedding to score some free cake samples. Let’s do that.”Keith and Shiro return to their hometown for a sad occasion, Shiro decides Keith needs some cheering up, and bad ideas are had. Or maybe not so bad...





	So Damn Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the now canceled This And Every Other Universe: Sheith Edition zine. 
> 
> Beta-read by lustyjustice. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Empress" by Snow Patrol.

Keith sets his bag down on the bed and flops over backwards onto the mattress right next to it, one arm flung over his eyes. The room is familiar: the lived-in and slightly dusty smell of it, the laughter and shouting from the playground outside, even the way the light falls through the window, filtered by the large branches of the old oak by the entrance. Everything about this place is a deja-vu, and he’s not sure that’s a comfort or not. The ghosts of the past are dulled by all years that have passed since he lived here, but they're still undeniably present. Part of him had hoped the orphanage would put them all up in the motel up Creek Street, that the orphanage would be at full capacity, no space left for the visiting mourners. No such luck – Mrs. Granville was always beloved by everyone, and the headmaster must have thought it’d be a good way to honor her memory, housing the boys she wanted to be invited to the ceremony in their old rooms.

He screws his eyes shut, redundant as that is with his vision already blocked by his arm. Most of the good and happy memories he has about this room, this building, are related to Mrs. Granville in some way. He can’t believe she’s gone. He should have called more often, visited maybe, should have… ah hell, no use in those thoughts now. It’s too late. He left first chance he got, built a new life, and never looked back. 

The soft ping of his phone announces a new text message and Keith rolls onto his side, blindly fishes around for the phone in his bag. He stares at the message on the screen, reads it twice, rubs his eyes and smiles, even as embarrassment creeps up his neck.

[Meet me at the diner on Creek Street in an hour,] it says. [No debate, I’m here, I’ll stay with you until after the funeral, and that’s final.]

He did mention the invitation to Shiro, but he somehow didn’t expect him to _do_ anything about it besides offering a sympathetic ear as needed. It’s not that much of a surprise, though. Showing up here to deliver emotional support that they both know Keith never, ever, would have asked for – that’s the kind of thing Shiro does, has always done, regardless of the fact that Keith never allowed himself to get used to it.

[Fine,] he texts back, because arguing with Shiro never gets him anywhere, and in this case he doesn't really want to. [Order the usual for me if you get there first, I'm starving.]

Groaning, he shoves the phone into his back pocket and rummages around in the bag again, this time for his toiletries kit. He needs to take a shower, wash the plane ride off, before he starts another trip down memory lane in the form of strawberry milkshakes and a burger with fries, accompanied by his oldest friend.

 

***

 

In all honesty, Grand Falls is a godforsaken shithole of a town: maybe a thousand permanent residents, the orphanage, a school, a bank, a diner, and a rather pathetic attempt at a shopping plaza that hasn’t once in its twenty year history managed to have all stores rented out. Growing up, Keith loved and hated this place in equal measure. It was his last stop in a storied history of group homes and foster care. At a time when he'd given up on feeling at home anywhere, it seemed mind-numbingly small and boring in comparison to the larger cities he lived, but it eventually became the safest place he’s been in since his father passed away. Because he had _people_ here, not quite family but close enough to make the town itself feel a little bit like home, too. Now one of them is recently deceased, and the other sits across from Keith in that shabby diner, noisily slurping his vanilla milkshake through a straw the same way he did when they were teenagers.

Keith stares at him, slowly shaking his head. “Ten years since we left Grand Falls, and you still haven’t learned how to use a straw without making a total freak of yourself.”

With final loud slurp, Shiro practically inhales the last of his drink and leans back against the booth, grinning. “Or maybe I did, and I’m just embarrassing you for nostalgic reasons. You know. Authentic experience and all.”

“Sure,” Keith says, snorting. He crosses his arms and leans back too, setting up a staring match, and Shiro barks a short laugh – a quiet one, because he was raised with manners and wouldn’t make a racket in a public restaurant, not even if that restaurant is the Creek Street Burger Stop – before he winks and turns to look out the window.

There’s a ruckus on Main Street, two soccer moms yelling at each other over a fender bender, and Shiro seems to drink it all in like the revival episode of a beloved old TV sitcom. While he’s watching them yell and gesticulate, held back by a teenage daughter on one side and puppy dog of a husband on the other, Keith watches Shiro. He thought it’d be weird, them here together, now. As a teenager Keith knew so little: about the world out there, about himself, about what and who he wanted to be, and least of all, about who to love. A decade later, and he’s figured a few of those things out. Mainly what he wanted to be – an engineer and a pilot – and also, that he’s gay as can be and deeply in love with his best friend. The latter is a bit of a recent discovery, and the whiplash of carrying those feelings into the town where they met as kids… it’s weird. Just plain weird. 

“You know what,” Shiro suddenly says, leaning forward, and Keith didn't even notice that he'd pried his gaze off the entertainment outside. He hefts an eyebrow, and Shiro props his chin up on folded hands, arms braced on the table, and glances to both sides conspiratorially. “We should do something dumb to distract you,” he says, voice low, like he's sharing a secret. “Pointless and fun. That kinda thing.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “I should never have introduced you to Lance,” he says, just to be contrary. “He’s a bad influence on everyone he meets. That sounds like the nonsense he would say if he was here instead.”

“Oh, come on, I met him _twice_ and talked to him for like fifteen minutes total. I’m not that easily corrupted.” Shiro's expression sobers, though, and he waves a hand towards the town outside the window. “But I mean it. Any ideas? What would you like to do?”

It doesn’t have to be said that neither of them would consider getting drunk or chasing hookups a fun distraction, so that’s out. Unfortunately, that disqualifies about fifty percent of the available distractions in this backwater hicktown. They even closed the arcade on Main Street; he passed that on his way to the orphanage. Keith lets his gaze roam over the cork board next to the door that leads to the restrooms. It announces local news and events, half of them outdated, but there’s one that catches his attention.

In a sudden onset of both bravery and reckless stupidity, he points at it and waits for Shiro’s gaze to follow him to the board. “Do you see the announcement for the new bakery? They list affordable wedding cakes as one of their services.”

Shiro eyes him, squinting his disapproval. “Can you at least make an attempt to take this seriously?”

“I am!” Keith insists, and it’s on him to stifle a laugh this time. “I’m not suggesting we get hitched as a joke or anything like that. I read a facebook post last week about pretending to plan a wedding to score some free cake samples. Let’s do that.”

Shiro still looks suspicious, but he at least turns to read the announcement. Then he frowns. “That’s a chain store,” he says, the words thick with distaste.

“That makes it better!” Keith argues. “Wouldn’t want to fool a nice family-owned traditional bakery into thinking they’ll have business going soon, and then bail, right?” 

Left hand coming up to rub his chin, Shiro seems to consider that. “They probably keep samples of their fabric-made cakes in the fridge, throw them away twice a week”, he muses, and Keith _knows_ he's got this one in the bag. 

“Exactly.” Keith downs the last of his milkshake – which he drank like a civilized adult – and flags the waiter down to pay. 

 

***

 

The bakery is a pastel-colored atrocity, complete with a café corner that sports fluffy clouds painted on the walls, furniture in various shades of pastel, an overabundance of cutesy art prints, fantasy names for their pastries and drinks, and a uniform that makes the employees look like they sprung from a fifties rom-com. Nevertheless, the girl in charge of the event baking – Stacy, according to her handwritten name tag – seems downright thrilled when they request the samples. She smiles like it’s Christmas morning and clutches her hands together in front of her chest in excitement.

“We haven’t had a wedding here since last December,” she informs them. “Plenty of birthday parties and anniversaries, sure, but no _weddings_. And you’re such a cute couple. This is wonderful!”

Keith sucks his lower lip between his teeth at the word _couple_ , chances a glance Shiro to gauge his reaction. He knew that trying to get _wedding_ cake samples would involve pretending to be lovers, but suddenly he's nervous, fears he gave too much away and Shiro might have caught on during the drive from the diner into town. It wouldn't be the first time that Shiro'd managed to translate Keith's silences into an accurate assessment of what’s going through his head. 

But he worries in vain, it seems. Shiro winks at him and then turns his attention back to Stacy, ever so polite, turning the full force of his charms on his current conversation partner. “That’s very kind of you. We thought it might be nice to have the wedding here in town, rather than make our parents do the trip to the city, so we wanted to see what’s available.“

He’s a smooth liar compared to Keith, whose ears start to burn bright red if he so much as tries to tell someone their atrocious new hair cut looks nice. That’s why Shiro’s taking the lead for this charade. Keith is merely nodding along, smiling perhaps a little too widely to look believable. Stacy doesn’t seem to notice. She bounces on sneakered feet and leads them to a tasting room in the back.

The decor in there is as aggressively cute as the bakery itself, but it’s a little bit like an annoying noise or a bright light at night: it blends into the background sooner or later. The human brain is truly amazing, Keith decides, as he watches Stacy unearth the cake samples from an industrial fridge tucked between a display for table arrangements and a counter with two bar stools. Then he startles as Shiro reaches for his hand, squeezing it in a display of pre-marital excitement. Shiro beams at him once Stacy turns back around, gestures for them to sit, and presents the samples. Her gaze keeps weaving back and forth between them, scanning for reactions, and Keith remembers just in the nick of time to make the appropriate _oooh_ and _aahhh_ noises as she recites the name and flavor of each piece. The cakes are actually half-decent, a note of plastic and colorant in there, sure, but better than he expected. Still chewing, he turns to Shiro, and it gets harder and harder not to laugh as they make delighted faces, trying to outdo each other with expressions of ecstatic enjoyment.

The chocolate and banana cream cake does its name proud, topped with a frankly excessive amount of fruit-flavored cream, and Keith ends up with a mustache of it clinging to his upper lip. His face heats up, embarrassed, and he intends to lick it away with his tongue, but it’s too much for him to reach it all in one sweep. He’s about to stand and excuse himself to the bathroom when he feels Shiro’s hand close around his wrist. Shiro leans in, and time slows to a crawl. Keith watches him raise a hand and reach out to bridge the distance between them, watches him do it in cinematic slow motion, and still flinches away a little bit when Shiro brushes the cream from his mouth, chattering on for Stacy’s benefit, and then brings his hand to his own mouth and licks the cream off his fingers.

He tuts, however, and cocks his head at Keith. “Look at you. What did you do? There’s still some cream left.”

Keith stares back at him, transfixed. He opens his mouth to stammer a reply, but yet again, Shiro is faster: he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of Keith’s mouth, gives a breathless little laugh that Keith _knows_ he won’t forget for as long as he lives, and moves in for an actual kiss.

For a second or two, Keith freezes, his brain throwing blue screen warnings at him, utterly lost, but then instinct kicks in, suppressed desire, and Keith kisses back. He gives as good as he gets, and judging by the little half-scandalized, half-delighted squeak from Stacy’s general direction, they’re getting a bit too into it for a public space.

Shiro draws back first, clears his throat, wiping saliva off his mouth, and turns to Stacy. “I think this one’s definitely gonna make the shortlist.”

Stacy giggles, giving them a thumbs-up, and Keith shoots off his stool, mumbling apologies. He grabs the opportunity to finally flee to the bathroom, wash his face, take a breath, and try to wrap his head around what just happened.

 

***

 

“So,” Shiro says after they step out of the shop with a bag of pastries and an ice cream cone each, the former with compliments of the chef – or whatever the bakery equivalent is – and the latter bought out of guilt for conning them out of so much free stuff.

“So,” Keith echoes. He manages to hold Shiro’s gaze for mere seconds, then lowers his head and pretends to be fiercely focused on licking the streaks of melting ice cream off his cone.

With a sigh, Shiro grips his other arm and gently herds him towards a nearby bench, makes him sit down, and watches him for another long moment. Keith keeps licking his cone. He’s well aware that he provoked this exact outcome, but the bravery he felt when he suggested the wedding cake tasting has long since evaporated. It left nervous uncertainty in its wake, and Keith… look, he knows this conversation is inevitable now. He just can’t bring himself to be the one to start it, admit his feelings first. That’s too much. The words won’t make it past his lips, he’s sure of that.

He almost jumps out of his skin when Shiro’s hand slides down his arm, takes hold of Keith’s own, and folds them together. “I overwhelmed you in there, and I’m sorry. But I need you to say something here. Please tell me whether I misunderstood, and if so I apologize…”

He trails off, a small smile spreading over his face at the look of existential panic Keith must be wearing right now. Keith blinks at him a few times, wills his brain to allow him a reply, but Shiro is faster.

“I love you,” he says, voice strong and sure, and he bends forward a little so he can insert himself into Keith’s field of view, ice cream and all. “And I should have told you a while ago.”

Keith swallows. He breathes in, promptly chokes on air, and winces when he looks up to meet Shiro’s eyes, still coughing. “I love you, too,” he croaks out, and nope, that’s not how this was supposed to go. He says it again, louder. “I love you, too. Shiro. _I love you._ ”

And because the words alone don’t seem enough, he whirls around, fast enough that the ice cream tips out of its cone and lands on the grass before him. Frowning, he throws the empty cone into the waste bin next to the bench and uses both arms to practically fling himself at Shiro, pull his head done for another kiss. Shiro follows willingly, easily, and laughs as he wraps one arm around Keith’s waist in return, the other still holding his ice cream at an awkward angle. 

They most likely make a funny picture, too eager and slightly uncoordinated, but Keith couldn’t care less. He’s got more important things on his mind, for example the way Shiro kisses him back, pulling him closer, waving the cone but making no attempt to actually break away and toss it, grinning against Keith’s lips. Plus, this is the town they grew up in; it saw them in plenty more embarrassing situations when they were teenagers.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
